


Sixteen Days

by janvandyne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Choking, Demon Bucky Barnes, F/M, Hair-pulling, NSFW Art, nsfw images
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:05:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8584996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: Sixteen days – too long for you two to be apart, the queen who could be and your demon disciple. And maybe the last days are upon you. The sky outside is falling, but tonight it’s with ice and not fire, and that gives you some sense of relief, fleeting though it may be.





	

_Praise be the love wherein there is no possessor_  
_and no possessed, but both surrender._  
_Praise be the nightmare, which reveals to us_  
_that we have the power to create hell._

[(x)](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fthefindingplace.wordpress.com%2Ftag%2Fjorge-luis-borges%2F&t=YzYyNDdiZDdhN2Q4N2FmMTI1ZTBiYWNlMTZiYmZkZmQ5OGUyZWEwNSxzV3l5cGp1NA%3D%3D&b=t%3AorTAWacSgsgE2vxdqh3Jxw&m=1) _  
_

* * *

It’s the middle of November, and you’re tired of being alone.

Mid-November and a storm is rolling in, nipping at the road-worn wheels of your old car, trailing behind the black steel as if the vehicle is some harbinger of what’s to come. But you know it’s just a dark shadow against the white-washed world – nothing more, nothing less. And the storm is just that; not the end of times, though it feels that way, just snow and ice cracking and crushing beneath your spinning tires, crystals kicking up like glittering stars.

The clock on the dash says 7:32, but you can’t tell if it’s night or day. Everything is snow-stiffened and slow moving, impassive to your pain and sitting almost still as you roar past. Beams of false light loom above in place of the sun, like sentinels standing guard until it’s ready to reveal itself again, illuminating both vehicle and driver in an electric glow.

Going back is easy to do, once you finally decided to do it. Like standing on the summit of the earth and realizing that you could just jump. There’s nothing here to stop you; nothing there to keep you from coming. The world isn’t going to change just because you’re hurting, and neither will your happiness make any difference. So you continue to move along, prey running from the winter storm, heading toward something even more dangerous.

You stumble slightly when you get out of the car, the frozen wind pushing you back, a warning now, and maybe it’s been trying to help you all along. You have to knock twice on the motel door, a minute in between, because Bucky is slow to answer. Even slower still to let you in, looming first in the doorway, lips curving up into a smile, until he finally moves to the side and allows you entrance.

Bucky’s eyes are fixed on your back as your drift into the room. The door shuts and the lock clicks in place and Bucky, of course, speaks first: “I gotta say, I’m surprised you came back.”

You snort a small laugh as your turn back to him. “Are you really?” you ask.

He moves further into the room, saunters really, stalks more like it. “I thought you were done for real this time,” he says, placing his palms on your shoulders. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Sixteen days,” you correct, and your voice sounds tired even in your own ears.

“Sixteen very long days,” Bucky coos, twining his hands behind your neck, twisting his fingers into your hair. He pulls, urging you to tilt your head up toward him, but then leans back when you oblige, moving just out of reach. “You said you didn’t want this anymore.”

You grasp his shirt in your fists, holding him tight so he can’t pull back. “And you said you’d be gone,” you reply.

“I lied,” he responds coolly, shrugging. “How else would you find me?”

Your gaze is sharp, accusing. Why do you always have to be the one that comes crawling back? You don’t reply and he doesn’t speak. He stares back at you, silent, blue eyes sparkling and beautiful. God, how _could_ you? How could you think that a demon was beautiful?

But how could you _not_? Winter blue eyes and red lips like sin. Freckles across ivory skin like a warm blanket of speckled bronze. Mouth-watering, amber-scented to try to cover the faint smell of sulfur. And Bucky knows, he _knows_ , and he bites his lip and he looks down, feigns modesty, but ends up looking more obscene than ever.

He casts his stare back up at you, kohl dark eyelashes fluttering gently, and takes the collar of your jacket in his hands. “Come on,” he says. The jacket is wet and cold with melted snow, sticking to your shirt as Bucky strips it off of you. “You’re freezing.”

Bucky leads you to the lone bed in the middle of the room and sits you down on it, parting your thighs before sinking down to his knees between them. He lifts one of your feet, placing the still-wet boot on his thigh, and begins working to unknot the laces, slipping them out of untidy double bows.

It always surprises you how gentle Bucky can be, how tender and tame, and a sudden warmth spreads through your body because you figure that, as far as demons go, that’s a lot like love.

“Sixteen days,” you repeat, shaking your head, like it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Like sixteen days is enough to incite the end of times. Like sixteen days is enough time for the world to dissolve into nothing. Too long for you two to be apart, the queen who could be and your demon disciple. And maybe the last days are upon you. The sky outside is falling, but tonight it’s with ice and not fire, and that gives you some sense of relief, fleeting though it may be.

Bucky tucks your socks into your shoes and places them on the floor at the foot of the bed. He unfastens the button on your jeans, unzips the fly, then swiftly slides the denim down your legs. He discards them somewhere behind him, leaving your bottom half bare but for your panties. Your shirt quickly follows and his hands are on you, rough palms following the curve of your waist up to your ribs, fingertips teasing the band of your bra.

He leans forward and presses his lips against your stomach, kissing a trail up to your chest. He kisses the top of your breasts, nips the sensitive skin, then buries his face into your neck.

“You were with the _angel_ ,” he whispers.

You gasp, caught off guard by his accusation. He doesn’t move though, mouth pressed against the curve between your shoulder and neck. You turn your head, rubbing your cheek against his, placing your lips close to his ear.

“Steve can help you,” you plead.

“He can’t help me,” he says, nose tracing the line of your jaw. “I wouldn’t want it if he could.”

“Bucky –“ you start to say, but he kisses you, harder than you would like. But you can’t resist temptation, never want to. His lips are gorgeous and red, soft and plump against your own. Yours are winter chapped in comparison, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers are buried in your damp hair, pulling you as close as you can get, opening his mouth and offering you anything and everything that you choose to take. And you want _all_ of him.

When he pulls back, his eyes are black as pitch and shining. No more of the faux angelic blue that you love so much, but the darkness that makes you _ache_. He lets his lids drift close, same as he does every time he’s aware that the demon inside of him is clawing its way to the surface, but you grab his jaw to keep his face tilted up toward you.

“Open your eyes,” you say, lips brushing his as you speak. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

And Bucky is so obedient, so eager and willing to do anything that you would ever ask of him, that he does it. He opens his eyes and they’re still black, gorgeous, shining. His lips part as if he wants to say something, but he stays quiet, waiting to follow your lead.

“I’m yours,” you try to reassure him. “My body, my _soul_. I gave them up freely. I even sealed it with a kiss.” You press your lips against his, softer this time.

He fingers flutter down the side of your neck, down your breasts, your stomach. He grips your thighs and parts them even further. He bends down and sinks his teeth into the supple skin, not too hard, just enough for you to _feel_ it. And you do, God you do. Your back arches and you moan, gripping Bucky’s hair by the roots with one hand and balling the bedspread into your fist with the other.

“Take your clothes off,” you say, pulling him back by the soft tresses. “Everything.”

You release his hair and he gets up, slowly, standing to his full height. You begin to move backward on the bed and Bucky takes hold of your panties, sliding them down your legs as you go. He slips them off your feet and throws them somewhere behind him. You smirk as you lounge against the pillows, patiently waiting for him to strip for you.

Bucky returns your smile with one of his own and grabs the hem of his shirt. His muscles ripple as he moves, arms flexing and stomach tightening as he brings it over his head and throws it to the side with your clothes.

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he unbuttons and unzips his pants. He pulls them down, underwear too, and kicks them off to the side. He stands bare and absolutely gorgeous in front of you, running a hand down his chest, smooth and pale and freckled like every other part of him.

“Come here,” you tell him and before all of the words can even leave your mouth, he’s on the bed lying stomach-down, arms twining beneath your thighs.

He kisses a speedy trail up the inside of your leg, from knee to thigh, too impatient to tease. He dives in with no preamble, warm mouth latching on to your clit, making you cry out in both surprise and pleasure.

Bucky’s hands sneak underneath the band of your bra, bunching it up to your chest as he palms your breasts. His fingers pinch and pull at your nipples as he eats you out, licking and sucking your clit. You look down at him, the long stretch of his strong back, the flex of his round ass as he grinds against the bed, and those big black eyes looking up at you with something like reverence.

You can feel your blood thrumming through your veins, pounding in your ears, and you can’t help but hold on to Bucky’s head, rolling your hips up to press your clit harder against his mouth. He lets you take control, relishes it, holds his tongue firm and flat so you can use it to get yourself off.

“Bucky,” you moan. “Fuck, sweetheart –“ as you grind against his mouth.

He growls at your reaction and tightens his grip on your breasts, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh almost painfully. You keep them there, trapping his hands underneath your own as he explores your folds with the tip of his tongue.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” you praise and the bed squeaks as Bucky grinds his dick even harder into the mattress.

He dips his stiff tongue inside of you, fucking you with it. You can feel his rough stubble rub at your sensitive thighs, plump lips against your cunt. He moans as he tastes you, eyes closed now that he has lost himself in pleasuring you.

He licks a broad path up your pussy, from your entrance to your clit, and you start rocking down against his mouth again. Your legs tremble as you draw closer and closer to climax, your whole body vibrating as Bucky moans against you. He makes a seal around your clit with his mouth, keeping a firm and steady pressure on the nub and you let go of his hands in favor of grabbing on to his hair.

Bucky slips a finger in to your tight, slick cunt, massaging your g-spot, and just like that you start to come. Your whole body tenses, back arching off the bed as you press your pussy into Bucky’s face. Your hand tightens in his hair, keeping him still so you can use his mouth to finish yourself off.

He keep licking you as you come down, his tongue soft and gentle on your sensitive folds. Once your hips still, he eases back, breath ghosting over your clit as he looks up at you from between your legs.

Bucky kisses your inner thigh, smearing slick from his mouth across your skin. He looks so deceptively sweet, shining black eyes looking up at you, large and round and almost innocent in a strange way. His red lips are parted, breathing heavy, and his hands are wrapped around your thighs.

“I wanna fuck you,” he says, pleading. “Let me fuck you.” And does he even know that he’s begging? So pretty, voice rough and wrecked already, ruined from just the promise of what’s to come.

“Get up here,” you say, guiding him up by his wrist, and he obeys, stalking up your body like a predator until his warm, heavy frame is covering yours.

You lift up and give his lips a gentle peck, just one, before laying your head back on the pillow. Bucky follows you, one hand cupping your jaw, eager for a deeper kiss. His lips find yours and his tongue sneaks out, licking in to your mouth, letting you taste yourself.

“Please can I fuck you?” he asks again, mouth muffled against yours.

“Why should I let you?” you reply. “Tell me, Bucky.”

“I stayed here,” he say, this time with less bravado than before. “I stayed and waited for you to come back. Sixteen days. You’re the only thing I thought about for sixteen days.”

His voice is so sincere, so soft, that you don’t know how to respond. Instead, you just say, “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart. I want you to fuck me.”

And then his cock, so hard, so thick, is pushing against you, slowly opening you up, and all you can do is arch your back and take it. Bucky feels so good inside of you. Too good, all sin and no retribution.

He slides all the way into you, filling you up completely, and you almost sob in relief. It’s been too long, the longest since you met him, and you make a silent vow to never go this long without him again.

Bucky barely pulls out before he slams back in, fucking you with shallow, staccato thrusts that leave you euphoric and gasping his name with every stroke. He’s stretching you wide, making you feel so impossibly full. His arms are surrounding you, his strong thighs trapped between yours, and you can’t think of anything outside of him and this moment, the whole room reduced to nothing but white noise.

Bucky starts fucking you hard and deep, pushing you into the mattress with every thrust. He’s nearly frantic with it, eager and greedy, almost too rough but not quite. Just enough to leave you breathless.

He buries his face into the side of your neck and growls, pumping his hips even harder. You wrap your legs tight around his hips and you sink your fingertips into the soft flesh of his ass, urging him even deeper.

Your hips move with him, rolling up to meet his thrusts, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. A heat starts pooling in your stomach, your body trembles. It doesn’t last much longer, and when you come, it’s cataclysmic.

Outside, there’s a ghost white world where the sky is quickly crumbling, snowflakes descending like stars drifting from the heavens, and you would be fine if it just up and ended this way; if winter blanketed the earth in snow, smothering everything and leaving nothing but Bucky and you together with only your touch to keep each other warm.

You’d be fine if it was you and him and nothing else.

You feel boneless, weightless, like you’re on air. You want Bucky to feel this way too. You want Bucky to _come_.

“You feel so good,” you tell him. “ _You’re_ so fucking good.”

You reach up, wrapping you hand around his neck, putting just enough pressure on his throat to cut off his moan. This drives him crazy, his hips snapping against yours as he chases his orgasm.

“You’re _mine_ , Bucky,” you say. “You’re mine like I’m yours.”

He practically whimpers as his hips stutter, eyes closed, mouth open. He pushes all the way in to you, burying himself to the hilt. You can see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, on his eyelashes. You don’t know whether they’re from pleasure or something else, but you want to kiss them away.

You lead him down by his neck and settle for kissing his lips. They’re warm, trembling. He moans in to your mouth as he slides his dick out of you then slides in one last time.

You feel his hot come inside of you, filling you up, coating his cock. You let him settle his weight on your body as you massage his shoulders, stroke his hair.

Bucky rubs his cheek on your chest, then turns his head to kiss the top of your breast. He treks a wet trail upward, over your collarbone and across your neck.

“You shouldn’t have left,” Bucky says, mouth at your ear. “You shouldn’t have left me again, and not for so long.”

You hold on tighter to the demon, and nothing, _nothing_ , could make you give this up. Not a throne nor a crown. Not hell nor heaven. Not even the promise of peace forever on earth.

“Never again,” you whisper. “I’m never leaving again. It’s just you and me, Bucky. Always.”


End file.
